Gemotions

The musty scent of the solicitor's office was suffocating. Amelia's hands wouldn't stop fidgeting, twisting the hem of her dress. The lawyer, Mr. Finch, droned on about clauses and codicils, the words blurring into a meaningless hum. Her brother, Thomas, sat beside her, impassive, a granite statue in a tweed suit. She felt a pressure building in her chest, a weight that threatened to crush her.

He finished speaking and he produced a small, leather-bound book. "For you, Miss Amelia. A collection of recipes, handwritten by your grandmother." Amelia took the book, its cover worn smooth by time. She flipped through a few pages – chicken pot pie, lemon meringue. A wave of nausea washed over her. She already had too much to do, she couldn't deal with this.

Thomas was handed a deed to a small, secluded island in the Hebrides. He accepted it with a nod. "Thank you, Mr. Finch."